


The people you know [who love you]

by izlaria (mixthealphabet)



Category: Batman (Comics), Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Background Stephanie Brown/Tim Drake - Freeform, Family Fluff, Gen, Pre-New 52, Tim Drake-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-12
Updated: 2018-02-13
Packaged: 2019-03-17 10:41:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13657335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mixthealphabet/pseuds/izlaria
Summary: Tim Drake is invited to dinner at the manor, two years after he decided he was done with them.[aka. The bats are awful at communication, but they mostly love each other.]





	1. The girls

Tim Drake didn’t know why he had accepted Alfred’s dinner invitation. He suspected it had something to do with the tenderness in the butler’s voice when he had called, the quick intake of breath Tim had heard when that first excuse slipped from his tongue.

The years had not hardened him to Alfred’s disappointment.

Still, years had passed since he had last entered the manor as a civilian. Tim had been discreet in his distancing from the bats. He hadn’t wanted to give Damian the satisfaction of pushing him away, hadn’t wanted to see what Dick would do if he noticed they had drifted apart.

It hurt more than Tim would like to admit that the people he had once called family could simply forget about him. And so, he had retreated to his apartment, to the titans, to the places where he was still wanted.

“I’ll be fine, Cassie,” he said, ignoring how Kon and Bart were fighting in the background, trying to snatch the phone from her.

“I just worry, Tim. You’re better now, but we both know how it was after the whole back-from-the-past thing with Batman. I don’t want those guys messing with you, again.”

Tim scowled at his shoes. He didn’t have a response.

After Bruce came back, they had gotten into a fight concerning his treatment of Captain Boomerang, which hadn’t been resolved. To Tim, Bruce’s lack of empathy had been the final straw in a long list of wrong doings. His hypocrisy, his frigidness and his negligence had driven Tim into questioning his own worth, but he was done with that, now.

Bruce could think himself above killing, but Tim knew the world was not as black and white as the man made it seem. The time after Jason’s death had proved what kind of violence the Batman was truly capable of. And still Bruce insisted on reprimanding Tim for entertaining the thought of hurting the man who had killed his father?

No. Tim was done with being the “good Robin”. He had sacrificed himself for the family, only to be cast away at the first incident.

“Cassie, I promise not to let them in my head. I’m here for Alf.” He drummed his fingers against the tank of his motorcycle. “Cass said she might make it to dinner, and it would be nice to see her.”

Cassie hummed on the other side of the line. “And Stephanie?”

Tim grimaced, thankful that there was no one in front of the manor to make fun of him.

“What about Stephanie?” he questioned, as nonchalantly as he could.

“Wow, the world’s best liar,” Cassie snorted, “can’t even pretend that he’s not still into his ex.”

He resisted the temptation to run a hand through his face. His gloves were filthy from messing with the bike and trying to find a reason not to go in.

“Look, Steph and I are… I don’t even know. Sometimes we’re friends, sometimes I feel like I’m going to end up kissing her in the middle of patrol and that it will just ruin everything.”

Tim heard Cassie sigh, though the sound was muffled by Kon, who was shouting something about Tim overthinking things. To be fair, it was probably true, but Tim reckoned there were situations that warranted a bit of overthinking.

While his relationship with Stephanie had gotten easier in the last few years, their history remained an obstacle to any future development. Absence had allowed them to overcome many of their previous arguments – their positions on Damian, their relationship with Bruce, the twists and turns of being vigilantes in the same city –, but the past hung heavily between them.

Stephanie would always be the girl he loved, who he had lost.

“I think you’re making this more difficult than it needs to be,” Cassie admonished, “but I love you and will respect your choices.” She paused, and Tim could hear Bart ranting. “Yes, Bart, even if they are stupid choices.”

Tim rolled his eyes. “Gee, guys, thanks for the support. Knew I could count on you to boost my confidence before I walked into the bats’ lair.”

“Lair? Wouldn’t that be a nest or something? Most of them are birds.” Cassie must have put him on speaker, because it was Bart, snickering.

“Hey, I’m a bird! My apartment is the Nest, so theirs is a lair.”

Another laugh.

“Tim, dude, go. Tell Alfred we said hi. Get a date with Stephanie. Then get out. We’ll be waiting with pizza.” Kon’s voice was teasing, but sharp. He had a way of cheering Tim up, even when he was also annoyed by the situation.

“Pizza? I’m eating Alfred’s food. I still have WE tomorrow morning, then coffee with Tam, but I’ll save you enough leftovers to last us the week.” Tim pushed off the bike, moving towards the manor. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

“Man, I hope it’s the lasagna,” Bart piped up, “You know I love the lasagna!”

“Don’t we all?” Cassie chuckled. “But seriously, go. Good luck in there.”

“Yeah, thanks, guys. I’ll see you later.”

Just as Tim ended the call, the door to the manor opened. Alfred stood on the entrance, the picture of composure and grace. Tim smiled. He couldn’t fault him for spying, not when their entire makeshift family specialized on secrets. Bruce had learned from the best, they all knew.

“Alf, always great to see you.” He put a hand on the man’s shoulder, only to be engulfed in a hug. Alfred was rarely physical in his affection, but Tim couldn’t deny that it was nice to have him close, despite how it always made him strangely aware of Alfred’s true fragility.

He was still solid and warm, real in a way that Tim appreciated.

“It is a pleasure to have you with us, my boy,” he felt Alfred say into his hair, and Tim pulled him closer, flexing his fingers in the vest that the man wore. Outside of his situation with Bruce and the others, Tim would never think of Alfred as anything but family.

“Only you could get me here on such short notice.” Tim let Alfred pull back, but continued to hold him by the elbows. “You look tired.”

He did. There were bags under Alfred’s eyes and his hair was grayer than Tim remember. He moved with the same ease of years back, however, which was a blessing, given his workload between Bruce and Batman.

“Well, Master Timothy,” Alfred began, with a look of delighted mockery, “not all of us can be twenty years old and in peak physical form. Some of us age, which is something you would know, if we talked more often.”

Tim didn’t roll his eyes, but it was close. The family was still unaware of his splenectomy and of the health issues that had followed, but that was a box of crazy Tim was not yet ready to open. Instead, he let go of Alfred, shrugging.

“We talk twice a month. You’re the only person I know who actually calls. I had to change my cellphone contract for you.” He followed Alfred into the hall. “And I know you know how to text. I’ve seen Cass’ phone.”

Tim took off his coat, stopping Alfred when the man tried to take it from him.

The manor looked the same. It had undergone renovations after the earthquake, but Bruce had apparently maintained the previous layout. It was just like Tim imagined it in his mind, when the nights filled his thoughts with longing for a place to call home.

His chest ached with it now, but Tim didn’t even blink. He was used to pain.

“I do what is best for this family,” Alfred stated, and, though Tim had been the one to breach the subject of the calls, he suddenly found himself being scolded. “Even if that means making sure you have heard a voice other than the one inside your head for the first time that week.”

Tim snorted. He knew it sounded genuine, despite how tight his chest felt.

“I spend most of my time in the Tower. My friends are not known for their quietness.” He didn’t want to admit that the Titans had lives outside the team and that, sometimes, the Tower did end up empty. Tim had learned to be alone with himself as a child, then relearned it once he let go of being Robin.

Alfred didn’t make any further comment. He obviously didn’t want to get into an argument with Tim, not when it had been so long since his last visit. Underneath his serenity, Alfred was being careful of him, coaxing Tim into staying like he would a frightened animal. It was in the distance he was keeping, now that they were inside the manor. How Alfred walked in front of him, looking back every few seconds.

Tim put his hands in his pockets, feeling the cell phone there and trying to draw strength from the fact that his friends were a call away, if he needed them.

“So, who else’s coming?” He hurried to Alfred’s side and pretended not to see how the man let his shoulders drop. “Bruce, Dick, the brat… Cass said she would drop by if she was in Gotham?”

Alfred nodded. “Yes, Mistress Cassandra arrived earlier today. I believe she wished to be informed of your presence most promptly, if her decision to sneak into your bedroom was any indication.”

Tim looked up towards the stairs. He was energized by the idea of meeting Cassandra, despite the price of facing the others. They had kept in touch through her time in Hong Kong, when she had struggled to create a life for herself, outside of what Barbara and Bruce could give her. Her absence had come in a time when Tim himself wasn’t at his best, but she had reached out to him, made sure he knew his importance.

Cassandra really was the best of them all.

“Master Timothy,” Alfred called, all fondness and amusement, “you are free to go wreak havoc with Mistress Cassandra while I finish dinner preparations. I only ask that the manor be left standing, as it would not do to have the roof fall on our heads before we are able to share this meal.”

“You know me too well, Alf!” Tim grinned at him, leaning down to smack a quick kiss on the butler’s forehead.

Alfred laughed as Tim went up the stairs, two steps at a time, rushing to get to his old bedroom. It was a nice way to start the occasion, with how difficult it was to make the butler lose composure. Tim had always prided himself on being somewhat unpredictable, but it was especially gratifying to surprise a laugh out of Alfred.

“I trust you will be down by eight!” he heard the man exclaim, just as Tim circled the top of the staircase, coming into view of his bedroom. Tim didn’t answer. Alfred would forgive him a few minutes of tardiness.

Cassandra had left his door open. She closed her book as soon as he appeared on the hallway, lips twisting up to show teeth, a grin so wide that it reminded Tim of children, of the type of unrestricted joy people usually lost as they grew older.

They met halfway, and Cassandra lifted Tim up, twirling him around as they laughed.

“You’ve grown, little brother,” she said once Tim was back on his feet.

He had known Cassandra’s hair was long, but it was different, seeing it through a computer screen and having it in his mouth when hugging her. Tim tried to stop smiling, to spit out the hair, but his mouth simply wouldn’t cooperate.

“I’ve been this tall since I was seventeen, Cass.” Tim let Cassandra ruffle his hair, felt grateful for the contact. He was sick of being away from her. “I guess I just – grew into my height.” He took a step back, giving himself the space to look at her. “Does that make sense?”

Cassandra tilted her head to the side, thinking, then gave him a nod.

Tim liked this about her, how she considered the allegories they created when they talked and how she tried to make sense of everything. Cassandra had had words thrust upon her, but she made the best of it, even when it didn’t come naturally. They were very alike in their perseverance.

There was a noise from the first floor and a low rumble of voices.

“Bruce. Dick.” Cassandra reached behind her to pull his bedroom door closed. “My room?”

Tim didn’t know if Alfred had told the others about inviting him, but he didn’t want to spend more time in their presence than necessary. If they knew, his bedroom would be the first place where they would look. If they didn’t, an open door would be cause for an unwanted investigation of the manor.

Cassandra’s bedroom was the farthest from Bruce’s, far enough from the main staircase that the others wouldn’t have to walk by it.

“Please?” He gave Cassandra a tight smile. “I’ll talk to them, at some point, I promise. Just, not now.”

His sister exhaled forcefully, but motioned towards the end of the hallway.

Cassandra understood, even if she didn’t share his sentiments towards the other bats. Tim wanted to believe she could see something he didn’t on how they moved, that she was sure of their love because she had the tools to read affection in their bodies, but the past two years had affected him deeply. The discontinuous attempts at communication, the lectures, their forgetfulness.

Maybe they just loved Cassandra more and that was it.

“Your birthday,” Cassandra said once they were in her room. “I’m sorry I was not there.”

Tim shook his head, sitting on her bed. It was spotlessly made, which meant Cassandra hadn’t gone into her room before looking for him. She wasn’t as messy as Tim, but she had a habit of leaving clothes around for when she needed them. Cassandra had probably wanted to make sure he was okay, before anything else.

He had no trouble reading her kind of affection.

“I’m just glad to have you here now. I know I’m in San Fran a lot, but I’d have crossed the world for you.” Tim rubbed at his jaw, bashful. “You did go to the Al Ghuls for me, that’s basically hell.” He looked down at their feet. “You’re still the only one who knows about that, by the way.”

Cassandra sat beside him. She took his hand, squeezing it lightly. “You would do the same for me. My brother. My Robin.”

Tim clenched his hands, feeling Cassandra tighten her held on him. “I’m not Robin. Not anymore. And I don’t even know if I can still consider us siblings, given how I get on with the rest of this so-called family.”

She pulled at his hand, making Tim raise his eyes to meet hers. “Brother. Robin. Words. The same meaning, to me.”

Cassandra let go of him. She pinched her thumbs and index fingers, extending the other fingers, then circled the two hands around, until they touched again.

 _Family_.

Stephanie had been the one to think of teaching Cassandra ASL for when she was in sensory overload, but Tim had been the one to find her a teacher. He knew sign language was a much more contextual language than spoken ones, but he hadn’t thought that the languages might hold different meanings to Cassandra, who had never completely adapted to English.

She signed it once more, then touched her palm to Tim’s chest. He nodded, swallowing through the knot on his throat.

Tim had missed a lot this past couple years, but he would rectify that. His hurt couldn’t become an excuse to push others out, not when he had people like Cassandra in his life.

He closed his hand into a fist, rotating it across his chest in a clockwise motion. (Sorry.)

Cassandra frowned at him. She brought her right hand up to her forehead and down to form a y. (Why?)

“For never learning as much ASL as I should,” Tim answered aloud, not knowing how to sign it. “For not being here when you needed me.”

The worry in Cassandra’s expression melted into fondness. “It’s not too late. You can learn. It’s what you do best. And I had you when I needed you, Tim. You have never let me down.”

“Well,” Tim gave her a wry smile, “then you’re the only one.”

He could tell Cassandra wanted to protest, but she must have known it would be a useless argument to start. One could say the years apart had taught them to be careful with their words, but the truth was that both Cassandra and Tim had always been mindful of the things they said, even to each other.

“I want you to be happy,” Cassandra said, leaning down to rest her head on Tim’s shoulder.

“I am happy. Usually.” Tim sighed. “I’m just sick of feeling insecure, and that’s what they always do, Cass, they make me insecure. Of my abilities, of my place amidst them. I love you and I love Alfred, but this house just reminds me of everything I couldn’t be.”

He couldn’t see Cassandra frown, but he felt it in her silence. “But you _are_ everything.”

Tim chuckled. It was an oversimplification, of course. There were plenty of things he wasn’t able to do, plenty of times when his abilities had fallen short. When he was Robin, this would be cause for sleepless nights spent training, trying to hone his physical prowess into something closer to Bruce or Jason.

He was good at what he did. Away from Damian’s smugness and Bruce’s disappointment, Tim had learned to be precise, to use his head where his body imposed limitations. It was what Ra’s had seen in him, though Tim found it hard to appreciate the admiration when the man was also trying to kill him every other month.

And Tim had friends. He wasn’t Batman. He refused to be Batman. Cassie, Kon and Bart would always help him, as would Cass and Steph. Ives, if he could. The things he couldn’t do didn’t have to become failures, because he was surrounded by people who were invested in his success.

“Ugh, I love you, too,” he groaned, rocking them both slightly. “Now tell me about your plans. Steph said you were gonna start teaching martial arts.”

“Yes.” Cassandra pulled back from his shoulder. “An academy in Bowery.”

“Bowery, huh? Did you run it by Jason?” Cassandra grimaced. “Still not talking to him, I take it?”

“How come you talk to him?” She made a sign he didn’t understand, pushing her fist forward, adjacent to an extended palm, then motioning towards him. “I can’t forgive.”

Tim heaved a sigh. He and Jason had a complicated relationship, but, as the outsiders amidst the bats, they had turned to each other when in need. Time had brought them closer and helped smooth out the resentment from previous interactions. Tim had seen what the pit did to Jason, but he could still remember that scrawny boy Bruce had picked up from the streets and it had been enough of a basis for them.

Cassandra didn’t always agree.

She had accepted that Jason wasn’t interested in killing Tim anymore, but she couldn’t get past the horrible things he had done during those first few years. Tim had never asked, but he assumed Jason didn’t actually regret the body count he had left after returning to Gotham, which would explain why Cassandra hadn’t completely warmed up to him.

“He could use your support. I’m not his biggest fan, but Jason hasn’t killed anyone in years. What he went through with the League… Only you and Damian can really understand it.” Tim bumped their shoulders together. “Just give him a chance.”

There was still doubt in Cassandra’s eyes, a glint of uncertainty that Tim couldn’t erase with words. She would have to see for herself, now that she was moving back to Gotham. And she would, he was sure. Jason was blunt and aggressive, but, at heart, he remained that little boy with too many hopes for a rotten world.

Soon, Cassandra would see how much he loved them all, underneath the hurt and the frustration.

“Tonight,” she said. “I will speak to him tonight.”

Tim blinked at her, confused. “Jason’s coming? That’s a bit surprising.”

“Not really.” Cassandra smiled. “Alfred is convincing.”

“Yeah,” Tim breathed out. “I’m living proof of that.” He threw himself back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. “Man, I’m not excited for the shit show tonight’s gonna be.”

Cassandra snorted, but didn’t make any comments.

They heard Alfred’s voice drift up from the first floor, the sound of people in the hall, and waited as the steps got closer. Tim recognized their rhythm, the steady energy that Stephanie carried whenever she was in a good mood.

He propped himself up on his elbows, just in time to see Stephanie poke her head into the room. She was grinning.

“Alfred said you guys were here!” she exclaimed brightly, closing the door behind her. “C’mon, gimme a hug, you big oafs!”

Stephanie flung herself on the bed, pulling Cassandra down with her on top of Tim. He fell back with their combined force, receiving an elbow to his side, but laughing all the way.

“Steph, you’re crushing me!” he groaned through the laughter.

“Well, you’ll just have to deal!” She rolled to fit into his side. “It’s the first time in forever that I have the two of you here.”

“Not for long, if you insist on suffocating me.” He put his arms around them, squeezing.

Cassandra tickled his sides in return. “Dramatic,” she stated. “This whole family is dramatic.”

Tim wanted to correct her. He didn’t want to be counted along with the bats, but he knew it was useless to go against Cassandra on this. They were her family, whether they liked it or not. It was touching, but the reminder that he had once been a brother to Dick, maybe even to Damian, also brought a bitter taste to his mouth.

Stephanie must have seen something on his face. She sat up, her eyes almost calculating as she kept them on him. “At least you’re here now, Cass. I think we’ve lost this one to San Francisco.”

“I still spend about half my time here. I’ll always have time for you,” he promised. His voice came out airy, and Tim didn’t have to turn to Cassandra to know what she thought about the look on his face. He was well aware of how soft Stephanie made him.

The blonde smiled at him, a pleased turn of the lips that never failed to take his breath away.

“I’m just glad you’re feeling better. I know we’ve already talked about this, but I hate fighting with you.” She glanced at Cassandra, considering her next words. “We’re best friends, right? Before anything else.”

Tim nodded. He wasn’t sure if there would ever be “anything else” for them again, but Stephanie was right. He loved her and, even if he was also in love with her, nothing could ever be more important than just having Stephanie in his life.

They had worked hard to leave the past in the past.

“Best friends,” Cassandra snickered. Tim couldn’t remember teaching her sarcasm, but he was sure he was to blame for this. Teaching by example and all that.

Cassandra got up, ignoring the glares she received from the other two. She knelt down next to her suitcase and started pulling out articles of clothing.

“Do the others know you’re here? I’m kinda surprised Dick hasn’t burst through that door yet.” Stephanie poked Tim on the side, prodding until he had also sat up. “And, Cass, honey, I know you don’t care about nudity, and your body really is banging, but we have an innocent with us.”

Tim had closed his eyes at the sight of Cassandra stripping off her shirt, but he snorted at Stephanie’s comment. Modesty wasn’t really conducive to their line of work, and he had seen his sister in various states of undress before, but he could always count on Stephanie to turn his good manners into a joke.

“It’s skin,” he heard Cassandra huff. “Muscles. Fat.”

Stephanie laughed. “Go take your shower. It’s almost eight and Alfred said he would take our desserts away if we were more than ten minutes late.”

Tim frowned. “That man knows us too well.”

He felt Stephanie shift in the bed until her legs were draped over his lap. “Okay, she’s gone into the bathroom.”

Tim looked up at her, unembarrassed. Her hair was shorter than the last time they had facetimed, at her shoulders. She’d used it this way when they were younger, too.

“Thanks for coming today, Steph.” He swallowed when her eyes met his. “I know you’re getting along with the others now, so I don’t expect you to say anything if we start to –”

“I’ve got your back, Tim.” Stephanie exhaled slowly, hesitating. “I know it didn’t always seem like it, ‘cause of the shit I did for Bruce and how thoughtless I was with it, but I’ve always had your back.”

“I don’t know if I deserve that. You hurt me, that’s true, but I was a jerk to you. The things I said… Can you really forgive me for trying to take Spoiler away from you?”

“Haven’t I told you already?” Stephanie flicked his forehead in mock exasperation. “You’d be surprised with how much I can forgive, boy wonder.”

Tim finally looked away from her, smiling down at his lap.

“Why are the girls in this family so much better than the guys?” he joked.

“It’s because Barbara is a much better influence than Bruce.” Stephanie rested her chin on her knees. She was closer like this, and Tim could see the shift in her expression. “But you should probably give the guys a chance, too.”

“Steph…”

“No, Tim. Listen.” She glanced up, thoughtfully. “I know better than most how awful Bruce can be. And, for a time, you two got very similar, which was weird in a hundred different ways. With the lives we live, things slip by, people do. I’m not defending what they did, because it was bad, but Dick taking Robin from you was a bit like you trying to take Spoiler from me, and we’re cool now.”

Tim didn’t really know how to respond. He hadn’t thought about it in those terms.

“I thought I was protecting you. I had lost so many people already…” He couldn’t look at her, eyes shifting from his lap, to the bright fuchsia of her toenails, to Cassandra’s suitcase.

“Yes, I _know_.” Stephanie rolled her eyes, sounding completely done with this argument. “I’m just saying, he thought it would push you forward and it kinda worked.”

It was Tim’s turn to look at her in exasperation. “I lost my spleen and fell off a building.”

“Point.” She nodded. “But you also defeated Ra’s al Ghul and saved everyone Bruce loved.”

“Yeah, so he could come back and lecture me about how I was somehow still not enough.”

Stephanie grimaced. “Like I said, not trying to defend them. B. is an emotionally stunted asshole. Let’s see what he’ll say, though, when he finds out you’re here.”

“Bruce knows.” Tim ran a hand through his hair. It caught on the tangles at the base of his neck, so he pulled at them, frustrated. “Even if Alfred had considered hiding it from him, the man is the world’s greatest detective.”

“Is he, though?” Stephanie looked up at him, through her lashes. “I’m pretty sure you’re the one he goes to when he can’t solve a case. I know it’s not the same, but he does value your work. Bruce’s just,” she snorted, “he’s just the worst at telling us he cares.”

“Maybe you’re right,” he conceded, “but I just don’t have it in me to wait until he pulls his head out of his ass. I’ve fought for this family, lost everything for them.” He pressed his lips into a line. “And now I’m done.”

Stephanie must have been at a loss for what to say, because she stared blankly ahead. Tim watched as she worked her jaw, remembering a time when her tells had been enough for him to know what was on her mind. Stephanie had changed when he wasn’t looking, and Tim supposed this was how Cassandra felt when she looked at him.

This longing.

“Ok,” she inhaled deeply, “do you think Alf made that chicken thing you like? ‘Cause I’d die for one right now.”

It wasn’t the most subtle change of subject, but Tim was grateful for it. They had talked about the family before and nothing good had come from the discussion.

“You mean the skillet chicken with the lime sauce? I’m counting on it.” He let his head fall back, groaning. “I love Bart, but the guy has the palate of a six-year-old, and you know the rest of us are terrible at cooking.”

“Yeah.” Stephanie knocked a knee against his chest. “That’s ‘cause you don’t have any patience. I’ve seen Conner try to use heat vision on a pie, ‘cause he thought the oven was taking too long.” They smiled at the memory. “It’s kind of ironic that Bart, of all people, doesn’t forget he has the oven on.”

“Oh, he does.” Tim smirked. “He just remembers to put an alarm when he’s cooking, and his speed means that he gets things out of the oven instantly, if we start to smell something burning.”

Stephanie fell back down on the bed, laughing. “My God, how are you four still alive?!”

"Take-out?" He heard the bathroom lock turn and Cassandra walked out, already dressed. Tim motioned towards her. "Cass is the same."

Stephanie slid out of the bed, smoothing down her clothes. "Cass can cook, she just doesn't like it."

"Cooking is lonely," Cassandra stated as she offered Tim a hand to help him up. "I cook for others."

"I'll be sure to come eat your food, then." He grinned at her, letting Cassandra pull him into the hallway. She smiled back at him.

Tim supposed she wouldn't mind cooking, if it meant he would visit more often. It made him feel guilty, but Cassandra's adamant acceptance of him was also a relief. While their relationship had had a slow start, it had also grown in the past few years, even when Tim felt everyone else getting further away.

They descended the stairs in a rush, laughing. Stephanie had jumped onto his back, with Cassandra trying to pick them both up. In all the movement, Tim had lost his balance and almost knocked over one of the cabinets near the foyer, scuffing the wooden floors. It had sent Stephanie into a series of giggles, which she muffled against the back of Tim's shirt.

He was so absorbed in the feeling that he only noticed Dick standing at the dining room door when he heard the man gasp.

"Oh," he said, letting Stephanie down. Tim suddenly didn't know what to do with his hands. "Hi, Dick."

Dick opened his mouth to speak, but only a breath came out. He smiled, and there was a tenseness to it that Tim was unaccustomed to seeing. "You're here."

Tim looked at him curiously.

"Hm, yeah." He glanced at Stephanie and Cassandra, who were doing the worst possible job at looking disinterested. "You're more surprised than I thought you would be." Dick winced at Tim's tone. "Am I not welcome here?"

This seemed to startle Dick into action.

"Of course you're welcome!" He exclaimed, taking a step closer. Tim stepped back, instinctively. He regretted it immediately, because Dick's expression crumpled, eyebrows drawing together in apprehension.

From behind Dick, Bruce emerged. His features displayed no emotion, and the contrast was so strong that Tim found himself slipping into that same blankness.

"Hello, Bruce," he said, polite but dry. "Thank you for inviting me to dinner."

"Make no mistake, Drake," Damian's voice came from inside the living room and the boy soon appeared. He had gotten taller, but his eyes were the same as ever, the deep green that marked him an Al Ghul. It put Tim on guard. "I was the one who asked Pennyworth to arrange this event."

Tim didn't let his surprise show. He raised an eyebrow at Damian, but kept quiet. Dick, on the other hand, spun around to face the boy. His previous uncertainty now resurfaced as distrust, clearly questioning the reasons Damian might have for bringing Tim to the manor.

Despite the suspicious circumstances, Tim wasn't overly worried. Alfred would never endanger him.

"Was I the only one who didn't know about this?" Dick asked, a touch of indignation to his tone.

Just as he said this, Jason walked into the parlor from the den, a book in his hands. "Yeah." He stopped to ruffle Damian's hair, then sidled up to Tim, throwing an arm around his shoulders. "Timbo told the girls, who told me. I'm pretty sure Bruce figured something was happening when Alf decided we would use the main dining room."

Dick sent Jason a fulminating glare.

"You act as if Drake and I were bad," Damian clicked his tongue, "but you two hooligans cannot be in each other's presence for more than a minute before becoming disruptive." He gave his back to them, moving towards the dining room. "Come. We shall not allow Pennyworth's work to go to waste."

Bruce sighed, but followed after his son, taking Dick by the elbow to lead him in. Stephanie skipped past Tim, sending him a thumbs-up on her way. He was left behind with Cassandra and Jason.

"You could still turn back," Jason offered. He held the book at his side, weighting it. Tim wondered if he had brought it just so he could keep his hands busy while dealing with the others. As much as he liked to pretend not to be affected, Jason could be awfully awkward in social gatherings.

"So could you," Tim bit back. He and Jason stared each other down, before breaking into impish grins.

Cassandra slipped between the two, linking arms with them. "No leaving." She was smiling, but Tim could read the danger in the turn of her lips. "I know where you live."


	2. The boys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A talk between brothers.

Dinner was an awkward affair.

He and Jason managed to convince Alfred to join them, but the conversation was stilted, with Jason’s sullen silence and how Dick kept sending Tim furtive glances. The man kept his answers short, despite the way Cassandra and Stephanie tried to prompt him into talking, which was strange in itself, because Tim knew Dick must have been bursting with questions.

Bruce didn’t say much, but this Tim had expected. He tended to clam up when rationalizing a problem. It was why many disliked Batman, this gloom that surrounded him whenever a situation escaped his control.

Tim had seen Bruce laugh, before. He had known the man behind the mask, who was serious, but kind. Who had wrapped himself in his grief for so long that he still had trouble peeling away the layers of his somberness. That man had been Tim’s father, more than Jack Drake ever could.

Tim didn’t know where that man had gone.

Looking at Bruce now was like looking at Hush. A familiar face, on a person he didn’t recognize. Maybe it had started with his trip through time, but Tim suspected the cracks had been there before, when Damian first appeared into their lives and Bruce’s unwillingness to actually teach the boy about their family.

Not even Alfred could be exempt from blame on this matter. Tim had forgiven him for it, but the truth was that Alfred had kept himself at a distance from the others. He was dedicated, but his affection often came in the little things, and those weren’t always effective. They hadn’t saved Bruce from his misery as a child, and they hadn’t taught Damian the value of caring for others.

Dick was supposed to be the one with the hard lessons, who approached these subjects head-on and didn’t bother with holding back his tongue. Tim knew the image in his head was an idealization, but he couldn’t help it. Dick had been the star of his childhood ideations, the big brother he had imagined when the Drake manor felt too quiet.

With Bruce’s disappearance, Tim had lost the Wayne name, as well as everything that connected him to the family.

He had gained other things. While he didn’t completely agree with Stephanie, he couldn’t deny that becoming Red Robin had allowed him to grow. His name now stood on its own, without the added weight of Batman’s association. It was why he was so reluctant to adopt a new moniker, despite wanting to leave the Robin title behind.

Tim thought about the costume he had been working on, the symbol that both Kon and Cassie insisted was the next step for him. He didn’t disagree, but maybe that was what held him back. Red Robin was the last connection he had to the bats.

He didn’t know if one step further would be one step too far.

"Alfred, I don’t know what you do with this chicken, but I need ten." Stephanie moaned around another forkful.

Alfred smiled at her, pleased by the compliment. He was sat at the head of the table, right across from Bruce, and the two kept exchanging looks over the dishes.

Tim bit the inside of his cheek to keep from sighing. He hadn’t said more than a few words, but already felt exhausted. He kept trying to examine everyone’s expressions to see if they knew of Damian’s true intentions with this dinner, without success.

The boy had made no attempt to explain himself, which Tim would have interpreted as suspicious, had it not been Damian. A tendency for the dramatic ran in Wayne blood.

“An academy for women in the Bowery?” he heard Jason ask Cassandra. Tim watched as their sister nodded, taking in the smile on Jason’s face with an astonishment that would probably have offended the older boy, had he not been so excited about the idea. "Little bat, that’s the best thing I’ve heard the entire month!"

Tim caught Cassandra’s eyes, raising his eyebrows at her. She pretended not to see him, but Tim noticed the way her lips twisted upwards.

"Yeah!" Stephanie piped up, leaning forward on her seat and attracting the whole table’s attention. "I’m so glad to have Cass here. Finally! Babs has Dinah when she wants a breather from all the testosterone, but what do I have?" She narrowed her eyes at Cassandra, then at Tim. "Two distant best friends and a teenage assassin on my tail."

Damian shouted his protest, but the comment had its intended effect. Dick choked on his drink, water dripping from his nose as he snorted. The others had different degrees of success in hiding their smiles.

"It is good that Cassandra has decided to come back to Gotham,” Bruce intervened, just as Damian brusquely put down his cutlery. The man sent his son a warning glare.

“What Master Bruce means to say is that you were sorely missed, Cassandra.” Alfred’s tone of reproach made Damian settle down, but Bruce looked up at the butler with wide eyes, surprised that he was being corrected.

“Well, yes,” Bruce chocked out. “I just meant that –” He paused. His expression was unguarded, for a change. It was reminiscent of the way Bruce used to look at Dick, back when they were still healing from their disagreements and Jason’s death. “That it’s good to have you home.”

Bruce shifted his eyes to Tim as he said this. The look spurred something hot inside Tim’s chest, though he wasn’t sure it was pleasant. He wanted to label it anger and let the thought simmer, let it drive him away at the end of night. But Tim’s feelings towards this family were never that simple.

He took another bite of chicken.

“Well, I’m just glad to have some company besides Golden Boy and the brat.” Jason reached for another serving of the grilled vegetables, momentarily obscuring Bruce’s view of Tim. Stephanie picked up on it, scoffing dramatically.

“What am I, chopped liver?”

Tim hid his smile behind his glass. Although he was thankful for the distraction, he knew that sooner or later the subject would rise once more. He had been aware, from the moment he’d agreed to come, that a confrontation was on the way.

He didn’t know what had brought this on, but it wasn’t difficult to guess. Either Alfred had decided it was time they were all together again or he had acted out of concern for Dick and Bruce. Tim wondered if the two had finally recognized how distant they had grown from the rest of them.

Home. What a joke.

Damian’s involvement made the picture a little less clear. It was possible that he had put his dislike of the others aside on the face of Dick’s regret at having his brothers pull away from him, but this theory supposed a level of maturity that Tim hadn’t expected from him.

“Blondie, you’re really not that great,” Jason teased, smirking at Stephanie’s glare. “And you’re in college half the time. I need back-up.”

“You could always call Drake.” Damian didn’t look up as he said this. “He comes whenever needed. He has responded to my requests without fail.”

Jason made a dismissive gesture with his fork. “No, that’s for RR. Or WE. Like: if it’s work, babybird is on it. If it’s something personal, there’s suddenly a hurricane in Haiti that he needs to get to.”

Tim wasn’t sure whether he should gawk at Damian for the compliment or scowl at Jason for his bluntness.

“That is true,” Damian admitted. “Which is why I resorted to Pennyworth in my efforts to bring Drake here.”

“Yeah, okay.” Tim raised his hands to his face, then brought them back down. “But why?”

Damian drew his brows together. He looked so genuinely confused that Tim felt he might have been unfair in his earlier assessments. Fifteen year-old Damian was a far cry from thirteen year-old Damian, even if his general smugness had not faded.

“While I do understand that you question my motivations in calling you here, Drake, I would expect you not to need a reason to come have dinner with us. From what Grayson and father have told me through the years, we are supposed to be family, are we not?”

“No,” Tim replied, feeling his expression twist with bewilderment, “we’re not. We haven’t been family in years.”

Around them, the table fell silent.

Tim hadn’t mean to blurt it out like this, but there was something satisfying about their shock. No one expected a refusal from him, because he had spent his entire life adapting to whatever others wanted him to be. The perfect heir, the perfect soldier.

But he was tired.

His time as Robin had encompassed the best and the worst years of his life, and Tim had had enough. He needed to extract himself from the places that hurt him still, before they poisoned his very soul.

“Tim, what are you talking about?” Dick forced himself to smile. “Of course we’re family.” He glanced at the others for support. “Bruce, help me out here.”

It was worse, somehow, to see the desperation with which Dick looked at Bruce. Tim had imagined that hurting them might help with the resentment that clawed at his chest, but it only made him feel farther away from the person he had been at fourteen. That boy, enamored with the bats and all they represented, would die before disappointing Bruce.

In many ways, Tim supposed he had died.

Damian put up a hand, signaling for Bruce to wait. “Drake, father understands that you needed time on your own, to situate yourself outside of the personas we create.” His eyes flashed in a way that Tim could almost consider earnest. “However, there was never a doubt that you would come back.”

By Tim’s side, Jason was rolling his eyes. Tim shared the sentiment, but he kept his expression blank. Alfred was at his right, and he didn’t want to escalate the argument with the butler so close. There was too much hurt knotted on his throat, and Tim didn’t trust his tongue.

He repeated in his mind: inhale, exhale.

“Well, I won’t.” Stephanie flinched. There was no backing out now. “Not for you.”

Damian seemed to catch onto his phrasing.

“And yet, you will for Brown. For Cain. Even Todd.” Tim shrugged, knowing that his indifference would set Damian off. “Why?”

“Because they didn’t ignore my existence for three years!” he snapped back before he could stop himself. Tim closed his eyes. “I don’t owe you anything, and I don’t want to be included in this family of yours.”

Bruce had heard enough. He had accompanied their back-and-forth with calculating eyes, but the line of his lips betrayed how deeply unsettled he felt.

This, at least, was gratifying. Tim knew it was probably a sign that he was hanging out with Jason too much, but he enjoyed the idea of wiping the self-assuredness out of Bruce’s stupid face.

“You’re my– my son, Tim.” He watched as the man clenched and unclenched his hands over the dinner table. Tim had forgotten where he had gotten that from. “That’s not something that can be changed. Not by time or distance. Not by a disagreement.”

“Yes,” Tim scoffed. “I remember the speech from when you used it on Jason, so spare me. You don’t get to decide who my family is, Bruce. I chose Stephanie, when you insisted she wasn’t enough. I chose Cass, when Dick threw me aside. And I chose Jason, when the rest of you didn’t bother to check how I was doing, despite being a CEO at eighteen, as well as dealing with a bunch of other shit.” He took a breath to steady himself. “So you can have your company back, if that’s what you want, because I’m no Wayne.”

“Is that why you continue to act under the Robin name?”

Tim snapped his attention back to Damian. The boy motioned for him to respond, looking a little less inflamed than he had previously.

“Dami, you’re pushing it,” Stephanie hissed. She was at a loss, Tim could tell, not knowing if she should let them fight it out or if she should intervene again and move the topic to something safer.

But Jason and Cassandra had both abandoned their meals to stare defiantly at Bruce, so it was unlikely that the conversation would be dropped.

Tim appreciated them. He really did.

“Don’t worry, Damian, I won’t be using the name for much longer,” he replied after a beat of silence. Damian gawked at him. “Now, if you’ll excuse me. Cass, Steph, I’ll call you.”

He pushed his chair back, crossing the room towards the parlor. He didn’t want to hear what the others had to say. Not even Jason, with the pit rage and the issues regarding his death, had completely dropped the symbol of the bat, so he couldn’t be sure of how the news would be received.

He felt outside of his own body.

The door to the coatroom was slammed closed, and Tim paused, glancing over his shoulder at Damian. The boy had a tempestuous look on his face, but he just stood there, glaring at the ground.

"Can’t you just leave me alone?" Tim adjusted the collar of his coat.

"We need to talk." His tone was harsh but controlled, and Tim recognized it as what passed for polite in Damian’s mind. Bruce really needed to work on the boy’s acting.

"What could you possibly still have to say to me?" Tim whipped around to gape at him.

Damian raised his eyes to meet Tim’s. He looked almost hurt, an openness that was distinctively out of place in his sharp features.

"As it turns out, quite a lot." He gestured to the foyer. "Would you accompany me to the solarium? I doubt the others will bother us there."

Tim hesitated. There was nothing about Damian that indicated deceit, but it was difficult to tell when they had all been trained to keep secrets.

At last, he stepped towards the foyer. Dick, if not Bruce, would be along soon, and Tim wished to avoid them for as long as he could. Damian wouldn’t harm him now; after all, in the grand scheme of things, he had finally won as the prodigal son.

They entered the solarium in silence.

Tim used to call it a conservatory, back when he first moved into the manor. Alfred had been the one to explain the difference between them, saying that conservatories were usually smaller and that their purpose was less focused on leisure and more on gardening.

There were several plant pots scattered around the room now. He could see the shadows of vegetation in the soft light that Damian had turned on, different sizes and different species. Yellow buds peeked from the grass, waiting for the spring days that would soon come.

"What is it?" Damian asked. Tim realized he had been too focused on the flowers to notice his approach.

"The greenery."

"Oh, yes." Damian brushed his thumb across the closed petals of the yellow bud. His touch was gentle. "Pennyworth mentioned that, in England, rooms like this are used as greenhouses. I thought it would be a nice project."

Tim turned to him, startled. "You did this?"

"Is it that strange to you, Drake?" Damian didn’t lift his eyes from the plants. "That I can touch something without destroying it?"

The phrase was an echo of something Tim had said, years ago. It filled him with shame, though it hadn’t at the time. He didn’t know what had changed: if it was Damian, who had grown; if it was Tim, who was finally seeing past the walls he put up.

"You had something to tell me," Tim pointed out, wanting to change the subject.

Damian glanced at him, but didn’t insist on the matter. "Do you truly intend to let go of the Red Robin mantle?"

"Yes."

Tim didn’t know if he would regret this later, when he was no longer spurred by the anger Bruce provoked. It might lead to a fight with Stephanie, but he knew they would eventually move past it. They had both pushed their way into becoming vigilantes, but their positions in the family had gone in two very different directions.

He was competent, the one who always made himself available to help, and it was an ungrateful place to hold. In the shadow of the bat, Tim had started to forget that he was more than just Red Robin.

"I never thought you would willingly abandon your title." Damian’s face contorted into a grimace. He looked baffled, more than anything.

"You should be glad, Damian." Tim pretended to focus on the sky outside, searching for a star past the clouded Gotham night. He accompanied a shadow as it moved across the roof. "You’ve been trying to kick me out since you first got here. Isn’t this the reason why you called me today? To assert your place in the family, or whatever?"

“No! That is not what I wanted!” Something akin to alarm flashed through his features.

“Then what did you want?” Tim sighed. He tried to remind himself that Damian was only fifteen, a year older than he was when he first became Robin, and that he couldn’t truly understand what Tim had gone through, since Tim had never even tried to share the story with him.

“A brother!” Damian admitted. He clenched his fists at his sides, eyes wide. “I wanted a brother!”

This should have been surprising, but Tim only felt empty. He sat down on one of the armchairs, staring out into the night.

"Don’t you have Dick for that?"

"You should hear how they speak of you," Damian said gruffly. "The admiration. The fondness. If you doubt their love, then you’re more of a fool than I thought you were, Drake."

"Maybe I am." Tim gave a humorless laugh. "The truth’s that I’m exhausted, Damian. I’ve spent years trying to prove I was worthy. Bruce has failed me. With Stephanie, with you. He could forgive your violence, but not mine. And Dick, replacing me like that, as if I had been the place-holder the entire time."

He did not dare say more. Sharing his insecurities with Damian was a dangerous thing; even if they had fallen into some kind of truce, it was only a matter of time until old resentments resurfaced. Tim wanted to think they’d moved past it, but he was well-aware of his own immaturity.

Besides, in this house, the walls had ears.

“I cannot speak for Grayson. What I will say is that he is not infallible. I recognize now that his decision to give me Robin was not meant to imply any weakness on your part.” Damian spoke through his teeth, as if every word was pulled from his throat forcefully. Tim wanted to laugh, he looked so pained. “On the contrary, Grayson has told me several times that you’re the one with the plans and that he couldn’t see himself ordering you around.”

Tim tapped a finger against the armrest, counting down from ten.

“Was that difficult for you?” he asked in a deadpan when Damian made no attempt to continue.

“Excruciatingly so.” The boy shifted closer. “Well?”

“Well, what?” Tim turned to look at him, disinterested. “That doesn’t change anything. You tried to kill me, and when that didn’t work, you tried to undermine me. And you never even said sorry.”

“As if you haven’t wanted me to disappear since the moment I stepped into this house.” Damian sneered. “If it’s an apology that you want, however, then I am sorry. I had not yet understood your importance to this family.”

Tim thought about pressing the issue, asking what Damian saw that he didn’t. His “importance to the family” seemed like a thing of the past, a part of Tim Drake before he gained – and before he lost – the Wayne surname.

He took a deep breath, wishing that the windows were open. The cold usually helped him think.

“I don’t know what’s your endgame here,” he breathed out, “but I don’t want anything to do with it. I’ve proved that I’ll come when needed, and that’s it.”

Damian’s enraged expression quivered. He looked away from Tim, jaw working in a way that could have been anger if his eyes hadn’t grown forlorn.

“Why do you insist on seeing only the bad in me?” he asked, keeping his gaze fixed on the other side of the room, away from Tim.

 “Have you ever given me a reason to see anything else?”

Tim studied the curve of Damian’s shoulders. The boy held himself tall, but he was less bulky than his father and the result was less imposing than he probably intended. Even with his spine straight and the frown that adorned his face, Damian still looked uncomfortable.

“You gave Todd a second chance and yet you cannot seem to accept me as your brother?” He sounded indignant.

“This is not about you, Damian!” Annoyance had slipped back into his tone, despite Tim’s efforts to keep himself detached from the conversation. He stood up, moving towards one of the glass walls. “This isn’t about you,” he repeated more calmly.

Damian sighed from somewhere behind him, and Tim wondered if he would finally leave.

“Then tell me what it is about,” he said, instead.

Tim rubbed his jaw, stalling. He had already told Damian too much, prompted by impulses that should have been long forgotten. It made him think that Cassie had been right in not trusting him to come here; he was letting them into his head.

“It’s about trust, Damian.” He turned to look him in the eyes. “You want me to be your brother? Why don’t you try trusting me, before that? Try being an actual person, who actually wants friends, for a change.”

Tim suspected he’d gone too far with his taunts. Damian had started appearing more frequently in San Francisco and, even if they didn’t directly interact during his stays, Tim knew of the young heroes that usually came along: Mia Mizoguchi, Colin Wilkes.

He was trying to connect with others, despite the impulse to pull away.

“I do trust you,” Damian grimaced, “Timothy.”

Tim blinked at him. “Well, that’s just weird.”

Damian glared, and Tim couldn’t stop the chuckle that escaped his throat. God, was he a Robin or a kitten? The push and pull was so reminiscent of Selina’s behavior that he would have imagined her as the boy’s mother instead of Talia.

The tough love act, though, that was all Al Ghul.

“Does this mean you will stop hating me?” Damian crossed his arms over his chest. It was the weakest impression of nonchalance that Tim had seen from him.

“Let’s get one thing right.” Tim held up a finger. “I never hated you. You were a brat, but so are half my best friends, so…” He shrugged.

“I did hate you.” Damian ignored his gasp of outrage. “It was what I was taught. I should identify my greatest adversary and dispose of them, before they could recognize the threat I presented.”

Tim grinned. “Are you calling me your greatest adversary?”

“Do not make me regret this.” A line appeared between Damian’s brows. He was probably the most serious fifteen year-old Gotham had ever seen.

Tim considered making fun of him, but eventually decided that he didn’t want to incite a physical fight and risk breaking one of the plant pots. They were proof of Damian’s good nature, despite how much the boy tried to hide it.

Maybe that was why Tim was giving him a chance.

“How about this: dinner at my place, a week from now.” He saw Damian nod, eyes looking sideways, like the conniving brat that he was. “And no Bruce or Dick, or else you’re getting thrown out.”

The boy clicked his tongue, but nodded once more.

“I resent the insinuation that you could physically best me, but I will allow this affront, since it is in our best interest to remain civil.” Damian half-turned towards the door. “I believe you know about the specifications of my diet?”

“Everything will be vegan. We’ll even get some horrible meat-substitute for Jason, just to see him sweat.”

Tim watched Damian fight with a smile.

“Very well,” he replied. “I will go occupy father, so that he won’t bother you on your way out.”

“I would appreciate that. Thanks, Damian.”

Tim waited until he heard Damian’s steps moving away from the door to open the latch that held the solarium’s window closed.

“Damn,” Jason exclaimed as he climbed into the room, “that was not what I had been expecting from the baby bat.”

Tim snorted. He still wasn’t sure Damian had meant what he’d said. This could just as well be some sort of plan Dick had created to bring him back into the fold. It was manipulative enough to be Bruce’s, but the whole emotional appeal of it had the older Robin’s mark all over it.

Although it could be that Damian had grown up with Dick’s influence, Tim wasn’t ready to let go of his suspicions. As Kon liked to point out, his contingencies had contingencies.

“No kidding.” He ran a hand through his hair. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

“I thought I was breaking you out while the girls got everyone nice and settled,” Jason dropped himself on the armchair Tim had used earlier, “but I guess you were alright on your own, babybird.”

“Ain’t I always?”

Jason looked at him for a moment. As a child, Tim remembered liking the intensity of his eyes. Now, it felt like an accusation. “No, not always.”

“Well, I guess that’s why I keep you around,” Tim tried, but Jason didn’t smile at his attempt to lighten the mood.

“Are you really not gonna forgive them?” He didn’t seem to be in a bad mood, despite the occurrences at dinner, but his bouts of seriousness always caught Tim by surprise. “Give up the R?”

“Yes, I’ll change my damn name. Not like it means anything, now.” Tim pushed the window out without looking back at Jason. “Are you staying?”

“Little bat’s hiding your bike, so they’ll think you left.” The other hummed, and Tim could feel his gaze shift from him to the plants around them. “That used to be my name, remember?”

Tim stayed frozen at the window.

He hated that Jason was doing this. Some part of him understood what Tim had gone through, and that part was the one who had taunted Bruce all night, bitter for all the man’s failings.

The part that spoke now was the Jason before his death, the one who had come back home, and that made it especially hard for Tim to ignore him.

“How could I ever forget? I’m the replacement.” He looked at Jason over his shoulder. “Remember?”

The mockery in his voice didn’t faze Jason, who simply rolled his eyes. “I can admit when I’m wrong.”

“But you weren’t,” Tim snapped back. “I was the replacement. But now you’re here, and they have Damian and Cass. So whatever, I don’t need them.”

“Wow,” Jason mused, leaning back on the armchair, “way to sound like a teenager. Do you need me to play MCR or is Simple Plan more your taste?”

Tim let go of the window to look at Jason, flabbergasted.

“Pot,” he motioned towards Jason, then back towards himself, “meet kettle.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Jason got up and walked back to Tim. “Look, I know they suck, but it’s like the brat said, you forgave me. Why not them?” He jumped out the window. “You coming?”

Tim knew they had a point. There was a time when Jason’s hatred had been the source of many sleepless nights as he looked back in search of where things had gone so terribly wrong. He’d questioned whether becoming Robin had been worth the hurt he’d put Jason through.

Stephanie used to say that, as a child, she had learned to lash out, because of her father’s horribleness. Her mother would hug her after every arrest and Crystal would mutter against her hair that it wasn’t their fault, until they both fell asleep.

But Tim never had that. When he woke up to an empty house, the walls couldn’t tell him that parents shouldn’t leave nine year-olds home alone, and so Tim started blaming himself. It was easier than hating someone who was never near, who could never answer for their negligence.

He blamed himself for Jason, for Kon, for Bart and Stephanie. For his father.

“It wasn’t my fault,” he said to the open air, feeling the winter breeze burning his cheeks as he stepped down onto the grass. “They abandoned me, and it wasn’t my fault.”

Jason ruffled his hair. “You’re damn right it wasn’t your fault.”

Tim looked up at him. His smile was weak, but more genuine than could have been expected. It was a good thing that Jason had gotten better, and that Tim had been able to forgive him for what he’d done under the influence of the pit.

“Does that mean you’re back on my side?” Tim asked as they crossed the yard.

Jason elbowed him on the ribs. “I was never on their side, Timbo.” He shook his head, a look of fond exasperation crossing his eyes. “You better go, before fashion-disaster-wonder realizes Cassandra gave him the slip.”

Dick was probably looking for him, already. They often pretended to underestimate him, but the man had been Batman for a reason. He might not be the best detective out of them, but he wasn’t as easily deceived as Jason made it seem.

Tim figured he had maybe ten minutes before Dick found him.

“I’ll see you in a week?” He pulled his coat tighter around himself as Jason grabbed a cigarette from inside his jacket, waving his hand flippantly at Tim. “Those will kill you.”

“Yeah, won’t be my first time,” he said around the cigarette, but didn’t actually light it. “I’ll eat vegan for exactly one day, and then you’ll owe me big time.”

Tim snorted.

His relationship with Jason had grown gradually. He had been suspicious, at first, but he couldn’t deny that he’d noticed the changes in the Red Hood’s behavior, long before Jason had approached him out of the mask. They had started to work together, putting their differences aside in order to ensure the success of the mission.

There had been some hiccups.

Jason had clung to his hostility towards the family for as long as he could. He wanted to be angry, because it was easier than admitting that they had hurt him, and, somewhere along that line, Tim had begun to sympathize with the sentiment.

In a strange way, Tim had been the reason Jason had let Stephanie and Cassandra close, which then prompted Dick to try, as well.

“Stay alive until then, big red!” He called out with a little salute, breaking out into a jog. Cassandra would have left his bike near the gates, where he usually hid it when sneaking into the cave.

“You too, little red!” he heard Jason shout back.

The nickname made him smile. It was a habit that they had gotten from Dick, but Tim liked how Jason had started using it to reaffirm their closeness.

It didn’t take long for Tim to reach the outskirts of the property, and there, as if summoned by his thoughts, was Dick Grayson.

“Why is it that everyone wants to have a heart-to-heart with me, today?” Tim muttered under his breath. The man was leaning against his motorcycle, unassuming in a way that was completely forced.

“Did you honestly think you’d be able to leave without seeing me?” Dick aimed a brilliant smile at him. He looked hopeful, and that was just a kick on the teeth, wasn’t it? That Dick could be this oblivious to the wounds he had inflicted, even though Tim had just told the bats that he was done with them.

He considered picking up his phone to call the Tower.

“Taking into consideration that I haven’t seen you in two years,” Tim replied dryly, “yeah.”

Dick schooled his expression into an unaffected grin.

Tim couldn’t read him like this. Dick was usually expressive, unless he was in costume and actively careful of what emotions he wished to display. It was wearily similar to what Bruce did, the mask of constructed cheerfulness he put up when dealing with people outside the family.

It was funny that people likened Tim to Bruce when Dick had adopted so many of his step-father’s quirks.

“We thought we were giving you some time away. Like Bruce did when I left home.”

Tim walked up to the bike and, ignoring the weight of Dick’s eyes, pulled it to the side. Dick didn’t stumble at being dislodged, though Tim wished he had.

“I don’t care.” Tim didn’t look at him.

He was shaking. From the cold or from the night’s occurrences, Tim didn’t know. He just wanted to go back to his apartment, so he could take a shower and forget this had ever happened. He was inclined to leave Gotham altogether, but Tam would freak out if he didn’t show up to their monthly coffee.

He hadn’t even gotten the leftovers he’d promised Bart.

“Can’t you stay the night? I know Alfred would like to say goodbye.” Dick put a hand on his shoulder, holding him there. “And I wouldn’t mind some time with you.”

“Thanks, but no, thanks. I’m sure Alfred will understand.” He shrugged Dick’s hand off and made to mount his bike.

Dick grabbed his arm. “Tim, stop for a second. Can’t you just talk to me?”

He exhaled forcefully.

“Now you want to talk, Dick?” He felt the anger pushing up against his chest, threatening to spill out his mouth. “You were my brother, and you traded me, you made me think I was insane! And I was just–” He hesitated, whirling around to look at Dick. “I was just so fucking sad, ok?”

Tim closed his hands into fists, trying to concentrate on the pressure of his nails against his skin in order to calm down. He was panting, more furious than he should have been, but he’d spent the entire night listening to everybody else talk, and it had become too much.

And Dick was still looking at him.

“I know,” Dick whispered back, his smile gone. “I don’t know what happened to you when you left, but you know it wasn’t easy for me, either. Between Damian and Gotham, then Jason challenging us at every turn… I couldn’t believe you, Tim. Apologizing won’t make it any better, but, for what it’s worth, I am sorry.”

Tim raised his hands to his hair, tugging at it.

“Even after it all, I needed a brother.” He let out a shaky breath. “Where were you?”

“Here.” Dick clutched at his shoulders, and Tim allowed himself to be pulled closer. “I was here. I can’t know that you need me if you won’t say anything. So tell me.”

Tim looked away from him, towards the obscured gate.

Dick could make things so simple, like words could fix the years he had spent distancing himself. It was almost hypocritical of him, since Tim knew he had a habit of bottling up his own feelings until they drove him over the edge.

Case in point.

“I wanted to die, Dick,” he confessed. “Or I didn’t care that I would die. I don’t know. When I fell off that window, I was just so relieved. I thought I was done.”

He hadn’t ever told anyone about this. Tam had been there with him, and she had noticed that something was wrong, but their conversations had never touched upon the possibility that he was suicidal. Cassandra, too, had probably read it on him.

Dick didn’t look surprised, though the brightness of his eyes made Tim think he was holding back tears.

“And now?”

Tim stayed silent. He wanted to swallow back the words, because the tenseness that had enveloped them grated at his already frazzled nerves. “I don’t need you anymore.”

Dick pulled him into a hug, despite Tim’s startled protest. “Maybe not, little brother, but I need you.” His arms tightened around him. “I’ve missed you.”

The ache in his voice stilled Tim. It was exactly what he’d wanted to hear, two years too late, but the knot on his throat didn’t seem to agree. Unthinkingly, he put his arms around Dick, fingers digging into his shoulder blades.

“I – I missed you, too.” His voice was muffled against Dick’s hair. “You’re so unfair. I want to stay mad at you.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t call. I was afraid you didn’t want to hear from me. One moment we were fine, then the next you’re not picking up your phone and I – I didn’t know what to do.”

Tim supposed he had been a bit unreasonable and, apparently, not as subtle in his actions as he’d imagined.

The truth of the matter was that he wanted to forgive Dick. Even tired as he was, Tim had been unable to erase the affection he’d felt for the man who’d once been his brother. He knew, beneath his own hurt, that Dick also suffered from insecurities and that he struggled with reaching out to others.

They had that in common.

“I hope you know this only worked because Damian says you’ve been talking about me. If I find out that was part of a plan, I’m never coming to the manor again.” He let go of Dick, so he could fix him with a glare.

The man laughed; it was soft but true, just like Tim remembered it.

“You think I got Damian to talk to you? I don’t think he’s ever listened to me in his life.”

Tim smirked. It was incredible that Dick didn’t see how much he’d contributed to turn Damian into an actual human child.

“You’d be surprised.” He put his helmet on, then mounted his bike. “Dinner at my place in a week. Don’t tell Damian you’re coming.”

Dick sighed dramatically. “Am I about to be in the middle of one of your schemes?”

“Are you complaining?”

“No,” he huffed out a laugh. “Just like old times.”

Tim geared up his bike. He watched Dick’s smile shift into something a little more somber, almost unsure in how his eyes flashed towards the gate. It made him feel guilty, but the concern was also flattering, as if Dick was truly afraid to let him go.

He would have to tell the Titans that he would be staying longer than they’d anticipated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this! I love writing Tim, so if you guys have any ideas you can hit me up and we can talk it out. I'm always up for some discourse on Tim Drake.

**Author's Note:**

> The word Cassandra signs that Tim doesn't understand is supposed to be "murder", as in the fact that Jason tried to kill Tim. I know next to nothing about ASL, but I tried, because I thought it would fit Cass.
> 
> Title is from my poetry collection, which can be found at my tumblr (hestialied). If you like poetry, then please check it out too!


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